To thine own self be true
by TrekDr
Summary: 'This above all: to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.' An endgame rethought. Could be considered canon compliant. C/7 and implied J/C at the start, moving towards a J/C future. This is Chakotay's story. Originally it was to be just chapters 1 and 6, called 'dinner for two'. I hope you enjoy the story arc.
1. A Dinner Date

He might be sometimes fast on action and slow on uptake, but it has crossed his mind briefly that perhaps the girl he was dating was wrong for him. It had been nice at the start. Nice! he snorted at the word. He ignores the word girl though. She is undeniably beautiful, definitely intelligent, maybe a bit too intelligent, but most importantly, she had chosen him. It was a great feeling to have been chosen again.

His last and final rejection by Kathryn when she closed herself off following Quarra had been it. She clearly didn't see him in that way any more, if she really ever had. He feels dejected thinking about it even now. He had been so certain once, but certainty has a habit of fuzzing around the edges, and for a quite while now edges were all he had seen. No. He had to face facts that he couldn't wait for a tomorrow that would never come. He was certain of this. His shoulders straighten as he thinks this.

It is clear that dating again, being 'out there' is the right step. He is just not sure that she is the right person. She is, though, the only person to have shown any interest in him, despite his attendance at numerous social events without the captain. Keeping his hair coloured and re-starting a vigorous exercise programme also doesn't seem to have had the response he had hoped. Though he thinks Kathryn has noticed.

Seven noticed. There, he has said her name in his head. She commended him on his aspiration to loose the excess weight that can disfigure older men. He was uncomfortable with that, and not sure whether it was because she saw him as an older man, or because his appearance was being judged. A frown marred his forehead. He was going to have to live up to her expectations. He hoped that she made some allowances for imperfection. He straightens. He is still strong, and he clearly made the top of Seven's list.

'are you alright commander' a whisper from Kathryn at his side. He looks over to see her peering at him, a worried frown. He can't help smiling back.

'a slow day, captain, I am afraid I was allowing my mind to wander'

'hmm?' and she smiles.'i could allow you to play hooky?' she grins at him 'would dinner then be on the cards?'

He so nearly says yes, but it is to be his fourth date with Seven, dinner in his quarters. He draws in a quick breath

'umm, ahh, sorry, I have plans' he says as casually as possible, and tries not to notice that a sparkle seems to have left her eyes before she turns away. he must be imagining things. It is years since...

'you are getting to be a hard man to catch' she mutters sotto voce, then turns to him again, smile back in place. 'shoo! shoo! go and have some free time. We get little enough time to relax on this damn ship' and with a bright smile on her face, he resolutely takes this at face value.

Back in his quarters he reviews it for perfection. he means, it is comfortable enough, the couch has a dent where he tends to sit, and the throw is slightly threadbare now. He smiles thinking of Kathryn wrapped in it as they make sense of the incomprehensible. When he picks it up he imagines that he can smell Kathryn. He folds it oh so carefully and put its away, a drawer of new earth mementos, and with that part of his heart seems to have left the room as well.

Maybe there are too many reminders of his tribal heritage. He ponders the room through fresh, more clinical eyes. After all, Seven is used to a more sterile environment. She is logical and analytical and the evidence of his beliefs may be overwhelming at this stage. He rationalises his ethnic cleansing of the room as a temporary concern.

Clearly, as they get better acquainted he can introduce some of these items, and talk through their relevance as they are returned. Some of them, like the bear in his hand, carved from soapstone by the inuit centuries ago, have been lovingly kept with different tribes but where found by him when he most needed to recreate the ambience of his spirituality. Some he has carved himself, abstract representations of flight and the condor. A stone carved squat frog that reminded him of the rubber tree people is cool to the touch and calming when he has felt anger.

Perhaps Seven would one day be prepared to find her... no.

He still finds it hard to believe Seven has repeatedly declined Kathryn's offer of quarters. They are irrelevant and distracting apparently. He knows Kathryn feels uncomfortable with Seven having only the cargo bay. She has repeatedly offered quarters, furniture, privacy all to no avail. She has struggled with Seven's insistence that she is Borg as well as human, and still wants to nurture her. He silently admits to not particularly caring where Seven has been situated, never having cared enough to consider it. but the picnic in the cargo bay was an uncomfortable reminder that most of them have just accepted Seven as the Captain's project, and perhaps not attempted to provide support on any personal nature. She is still different, alone.

Perhaps this is why she jumped when he suggested - at the request of Kathryn who thought it might help if someone else asked - that she join in with ore of the crew recreational activities. Maybe that is all she has been looking for with her requests of him, just a personal connection. That this doesn't dismay should really hurt, but somehow it is a bit relieving. Perhaps it is not really romance on the agenda. He feels less... guilty, at that thought.

He realises that while pondering this he has moved all his tribal mementos and meditation aids into his bedroom, along with all the carvings. The photos of Kathryn have always been hidden there. His quarters look somewhat bare. There is just one large piece of artwork left and a few archaeological relics.

He then looks at the stunningly crafted silk quilted artwork Kathryn gave him, saying it reminded her of the four elements in the abstract inter play of colours. He should really move that too. It just is too ... personal. When he goes towards it to take it down he sees her grin in his mind, triumphant as she gave it to him, sure she had found the perfect gift.

It must have been costly, he imagined her bartering hands on hip, or perhaps exchanging something she treasured for it. Barring the gift of herself, she had indeed found the perfect gift. His lips curve upwards and his frown softens recalling the smile when he clearly loved it, and the way she checks it is there every time she comes to his quarters.

It truly is an enthrallingly beautiful work of art. The sweep of the colour wheel, the interplay of stitched characters within it. Unusual, tactile like its giver, beautiful, thoughtful. He has got used to its presence in his life. It is part of his existence. Now he relooks at it with fresh eyes.

He looks carefully at it, as if for the last time. for the first time he sees that their initials are stitched entwined together. The animal characters and glyphs he now notices to be uncannily like the tribal and archaeological momentoes in his quarters. It was made specifically for him, with his identity entwined within it. It shocks him. She had commissioned this, he had never noticed. What had she meant to convey. He doesn'tlet himself complete the thought, but still, did she still think that, every time she checks for its presence, what does she see? What does she think that she has offered and has he accepted? A promise made visible?

He places it in his bedroom and feels that he has broken faith, somehow. Damn.

Something niggles at his brain about this and he shuts it down. It is too late.

He decides to keep out his archaeological finds. After all, they are scientific, a point of discovery to discuss. The piece of nearly Grecian styled plinth with something that looks damned close to acanthus leaves in a dark red coloured stone, high in iron content; the fragment of startlingly orange pottery, a reminder that different worlds and different peoples pass through similar stages of development in their own way. He turns over the pieces, fragments of the past that may never be truly learnt. Most items are catalogued, images taken and scanned, but left in situ. He doesn't wish to pillage sites of their unique history. That lesson was learnt on Earth. The owners may be untraceable, but he isn't going to destroy their heritage. But some examples of the very common, ubiquitous to the area he does take. Both for himself, but for his avowed plan to recreate the wonder to students in the alpha quadrant.

This one, the glyph on it looks like an eagle, in the right light. Kathryn had laughed at that, and then he had seen her trying to make it look like an eagle. He lov... no appreciated that about her, her way of trying to see through others eyes. he imagined the ancient world where this bird existed, a derelict planet when they visited, clearly wracked by volcanic events, maybe even a meteor strike. Kathryn had given him three days and a shuttle to investigate, and Sam and Naomi had come down at one point. A nice way to teach Naomi about tectonic plates. He looks at that eagle glyph and remembers laughing in the sunlight as Naomi's little hand held his firmly whilst the ground below them trembled - a safe distance from the epicentre.

Mulishly, he leaves it on the shelf. The rest of the room seems denuded of his personality now, sparse and desolate. He isn't sure that he likes it, though it is only temporary.

He turns his thoughts to the menu. After all, Seven doesn't really eat much. Hmm, well, he amends, she doesnt have a varied palate. She provided his favourite foods for the picnic, but he has no idea what hers are. Kathryn might, but he can't really ask her... He looks blankly at the replicator without ideas. Command training returns

'computer, list Seven of Nine's replicated food choices in order of frequency'

Well, that is depressing, mostly a list of protein shakes. Hmm, rack of lamb, and a number of salad choices. He's sure they are Kathryn's favourite salads. Who is he kidding, he knows they are Kathryn's recipes. Can he really serve Kathryn's food to Seven? ... Strawberries... Sighing, he settles for a vegetarian pasta dish with pesto, and a bowl of salad. He's sure that that will be acceptable.

He turns his attention to his outfit before a quick and efficient sonic shower and a touch up of his hair. Seven's comments have made him feel self conscious around his age. He may have a range of casual outfits, but as he flicks through them his errant mind tells him where he last wore them, and who he was with. He is sure that clothes style is irrelevant too. In the end he picks at random. He randomly chooses one of the outfits that Kathryn replicated following a lost [disputed] bet...


	2. Revelations

In a way he is glad of the red alert. OK, he says that he isn't, because a lot of him would like to try kissing Seven again. The bit of him that feels starved of touch, of intimate encounter. That bit of him really, and he means *really* wanted to kiss her again. He needs to be loved, held, feel alive with another. He wants a relationship. He needs a relationship. The small sensible bit of him is thinking that he really needs to think about where this is going. He spent most of his planning for the date thinking about another woman. He even dressed for that other woman, for spirits sake.

But a fair bit of him is saying 'to hell with it. go with what you are being offered' and he needs to think about this before he follows this path. In his head he knows that he needs someone, even if it isn't who he has wished for and the relationship he hoped would one day flow, he needs someone to actively cherish, talk to at the end of the day, hold when he falls asleep. He needs to be human. He is used to ignoring his heart. He hopes that with commitment and determination, his stubborn heart might follow his head.

It isnt as if he has options.

he resolutely doesnt examine closely the muffled shouting from the back of his mind that this iis a disaster, for him, for Seven, for... everything. He ignores the fact that this decision has the appearance of a self destruct and that the time is counting down.

He sighs, but the sound is lost within the combined gasp of surprise from kathryn, Harry, Tom, and well, everyone who has been paying any attention to the current alert. Damn, but he is distracted.

He looks at the viewscreen, at the federation shuttle that has just come through a rift in spacetime.

That! That is Kathryn! Shit! and an older Kathryn. A Kathryn that is alone. What the hell is she playing at now.

As expected, all hell breaks loose. Some things never change...

Like he would follow this woman to the ends of the known universe, and back. Please, let it be back!

He stubbornly doesnt examine any other of the feelings associated with this woman, he is a contrary.

-0-0-0-

Huh! so here they are in the alpha quadrant. He should be ecstatic. She has done it, brought them home. hmm and there is the rub. He isn't exactly sure where his home is. He thought it was with her, he had all sorts of imaginings at what would happen at this moment. He would catch her in his arms, like Harry did, damn him, tell her that her time as his Captain of voyager was over, and she could now captain his heart, or something else romantic. he is sure he could have thought of something. but he didn't, he was not even beside her, but Seven, it was Seven that he shared a gaze with.

He sits hunched over the conn.

She kept her promise, but he doesn't seem to have kept his.

Did he actually make a promise, he doesn't think so, not in so many words. but...

...again he feels something in the back of his mind that he ruthlessly shuts down. Not now, he just cant think now.

He hears Kathryn making arrangements and retreating to her ready room.

She shouldn't know, but somehow in the way recently her eyes skate over him with a hint of pain, he knows she does. He also guesses that old harridan told her. He feels bad thinking that. He knows that he has something to do with the steel in her backbone. She could hardly bear to look at him, and shortly after neither could Kathryn. In fact, she looked at him as if he had phasered her, and then scurried off.

So, at least he knew how she felt about things.

Sort of.

She had pretended she barely knew him since. She had not come into his quarters though, a relief. He couldn't bear the thoughts of her not seeing her present on the wall, it seemed very final. She wasn't in his heart any more. He had removed her from his space. it shouldn't hurt that much that she was attempting to do the same.

And then Seven had tried to break up with him, leave him with nothing at all.

He had made some cringeworthy beg to stay together. It wasn't as if he was that sure that he and Seven even wanted the same things. It was pride, and a fear of being left behind, and anger that yet again Kathryn was making sure he was alone.

At Kathryn's call he trudges to the briefing room. He should be pleased, she has achieved the maquis and equinox freedom, pay and commisions. He doesn't know about her, but clearly she will be feted as golden girl. No one asks her. He should, but he doesn't. The others assume that he knows, that this victory is part his doing, that he is still looking out for her back.

He just sits.

Tuvok is leaving early, he doesn't know why.

He looks at Tom, B'Elanna and baby Miral and wishes with his whole being that that could be him. Not B'Elanna, clearly, but a wife and child, love, hope, a future. He doesn't really notice that Kathryn looks at them with the same naked wish in her eye.

Tom could have told him, but he doesn't. Tom is still hopeful at this point that they will 'get their shit together'. He has always been an optimistic romantic.

The meeting is derailed about talks of a party. He doesn't really listen. He doesnt want a party. It feels like there is nothing to celebrate. This is his home, where he has felt the most connected in his life. It is over. it feels like his life may be over. All these plans and he thinks what he would really like is to go back to the beginning, now he knows they will make it.

He needs to shake this, but he cant. He just sees images of happiness, images of the bridge, of a laughing Kathryn, of beers with Ayala, Sandrines, feeling finally in control of his destiny. Striding around a fractured Voyager, responsible for repairing it with the love... and he shakes out of this. It isn't helping.

He also didn't really listen to the bit about debrief, parking at utopia planetia, section head reports, a week in quarentine, medical check on McKinley and beamed to a secure starfleet building... whatever...He still isn't listening to the party planning, letting all sound swirl over him. he is just...deflated. He does look up when people gasp, and Harry shouts no! Seven is. well it appears that she is smirking. he thinks she has been talking.

'that is correct is it not Chakotay' she demands. He has no idea and pulls at his earlobe in defeat.

'I am sorry, Seven, I was considering a number of procedural issues' . deflect! deflect! he can see Kathryn is trying to look at him worriedly without being obvious, harry looks horrified, B'Elanna is looking as if she could cry, and Tom, well he looks disappointed. Whatever the hell gives Tom the right to look disappointed, with him?

'We are in a relationship, and you will accompany me to the party, so I declined the doctors kind invitation'

Ah. erm, well, there it is. Seven, his girlfriend, looks at him, with clear assumptions that he will. And he finally realises what his heart has been shouting at him all along, that it is Kathryn he wants to take. It has always been Kathryn. He looks around to see her disappear out of the briefing room. It all feels a bit pointless, he is too late. Again.

'Yes, of course' he answers.

He would run after Kathryn. but she isn't going to acknowledge him now, acknowledge them, what they could be. Seven smiles at him, and the joy on her face, he cannot help but smile back. His heart goes out to her. She has been also worried about her welcome here in the alpha quadrant, and being alone. At least he can help her there.

He really would have liked her to discuss this with him first, but she isn't used to considering others with her decisions. Perhaps he can help her with that too.

He does like having a purpose, being needed. It makes his life feel, well, necessary.

She takes his arm as they file out, happily and as a clear statement of ownership. He tries not to hear the immediate dissection of the news by the three musketeers.

The decision is made, and he is an honourable man.


	3. A celebration

He dresses in the showy three piece suit she has asked him to wear. He feels like a stuffed penguin. He had to change the size, as the fitted shirt was rather too fitted. He will... comply.

He thinks he looks stupid. This is just not his style. A full tux, with dress tails. He is uncomfortable, trying to fit into the emasculated skin of what he supposes is Seven's idealised picture of the date.

His sister would laugh, and he wonders what k... the others might think.

He looks wrong in it. He tries brushing his hair over his forehead, hiding his tattoo. He doesnt think of the processes behind that gesture. He doesn't contemplate whether he does it to hide his heritage, to fit in with what a barely adolescent in mental processes young woman might believe is optimum, to draw a veil over who he is and what he might want.

Thinking is irrelevant, really. He has surrendered his control. He is just following the path of least resistance.

He snorts.

Resistance, it would be funny if his heart didn't seem to be hurting.

How can he be hurting? What is so wrong? he is taking the most beautiful girl on the ship to the prom. Surely he should be elated, should be strutting in pride imagining the impression they will make arriving together. He shuts down as much of his brain as he is able before any unwanted answers might appear.

Time to get this show on the road. He gives a cursory look at his reflection. The man in the mirror is attractive enough, but he isn't recognisable, it just isn't him.

He leaves his desecrated quarters that no longer feel like home, and moves out into the corridor.

He is caught but a sound, plunging him back into the past, pulling his heart from his chest. A red alert klaxon of a wake up call. Her throaty laughter swirls out from her quarters, along with a very powerful dancing beat. the door opens and ayala [ayala!] exits with a cocky grin on his face, comfortable with the laughter of at least B'Ella and Kathryn [captain he autocorrects] .

He takes a moment of jealousy at Ayala's trim, confident, masculine style of dress. He sees a man that he would prefer to be. A man true to himself, revelling in his personality and charm. Ayala looks at him and smirks, clearly amused at his out of character appearance and then double takes.

'man, you blew it! after all that time' and he shakes his head and walks off as the captains voice hollers out

'i'm holding you to that Mike' to the giggles of the others.

Possibly he can hear Sam as well, and he can't help but hear some light hearted joking around holding.

He smashes out of the ring the image of Mike holding, well, her.

He realises he is stationary outside her door. He could go in, try and make things right, explain. but his head is hurting with it, as is his pride.

What did Ayala mean? He blew it? there was nothing to blow! He had been blown away years ago like just so many motes of space dust. Ashes of memories of possibilites from another time.

And she is clearly not bothered! He hears the heady sound of her full bellied laugh. No, he is not wanted at all. But Mike? What has she agreed to? When she has never offered him anything! He grinds his teeth in anger. He knew that she didn't lo... well, she didnt like he does, no did. And Seven needs him, he likes being needed, being a champion. He ruthlessly quashes the thought that Seven would look horrified at the thought.

And if he went in, B'Ella, and Sam would know that he had been so foolish. Would they think less of him? Do they think he has 'blown it' too? What 'it' has he ever had a chance of recently? Would their laughter be mocking rather than friendly? He wishes she was alone, that he could just go to her and talk, clear his head of this confusion.

He is still outside her door shaking his clouded head when he hears angry wailing approaching. miral. He puts on his best stalk and walks past Tom, giving him a feral grin as he stakes claim to the picture of a man about to receive his hearts desire.

He keeps up the, what is it? act? pretence? until he reaches cargo bay 2. It is here that he nearly calls the whole thing off. Then and there. Seven is wearing a beautiful red asymetric cut dress which sculpturally accentuates her form. Her slightly shy but slightly knowing smile as she welcomes him presses all the wrong buttons. She is an ingenue, but still he feels old, he feels slightly tainted. He brushes away the thoughts that it is this that the fraternisation policy is written for. She wants a myth, a position, a security. It has nothing to do with love.

He is not entirely sure it has anything to do with him. What of himself has he really shared with her?

He angrily tells himself that it was Ledos, that they each saw the human side of the other. She began to understand his fascination with anthopology, and had become less...unbending. Though, he thinks bitterly, it was the captain that rescued her still when she ran away. Damnit!

She twirls for him, with lollipop red lips in a smile. A poster picture of the glossy feminine ideal. Beautiful and intelligent.

The graceful stiff folds of taffeta silk though cannot hide the outline of borg protrusions. Not many, but he is flung into a memory of holding ka... the captain as she shudders through assimilation nightmares, fingers tracing on her arms the scars that will be removed by dermal regenerator.

He looks at the girl in woman in front of him, and knows that somehow he is going to have to skirt a path very carefully. She may think she wants a date, romance, maybe even physical love. in fact, looking at how she is eying him, he becomes more sure that she is perhaps looking for intimacy.

But he starts to think that it isn't his place to provide that. She is precious, too precious, to the captain and without his volition, to him. He does love her, and the thought hits him with more surprise than it should do, considering he is dating her.

A part of him, a larger part than he would like to admit to, is tempted, oh still so very tempted. He knows he could claim her, and that it would work, more or less.

it's not what he really wants though, although he isnt sure whether he will ever be able to love *her* as he wants to. More importantly, he thinks it isn't what would be best for Seven, though she is unlikely to have found who she would want, yet. He just doesn't think it would be him, not now there is all of the alpha quadrant to explore.

He smiles at Seven, who is starting to pout at his lack of appropriate response. He admits that her pouting lips are very kissable. After all, he isnt dead.

'you look beautiful. Lets go'

_-0-0-0-0-_

He tells himself that the gasps are of envy when he enters the holodeck. The do look good together. his suit matches her formal wear perfectly. He stands straight and smiles, holding Seven just a little closer. She is also smiling, somewhat triumphantly he thinks. It strokes his ego, that he is considered such a catch. it allows him to fill his allotted part in this, he was going to say charade, but display is probably more appropriate.

He walks her towards the heaving tables of drinks and canapes, hungrily eyeing the choice. He realises that it is some time since he last ate, and a very long time since he was presented with such a cornucopia od choice. Unfortunately, it is also where she chooses sparkling water for them both, and declines food, again for them both. He knows she doesn't really eat for pleasure, but he would really like to enjoy some of the food. it has been catered in, no stinting, no leola, no unusual combinations. It smells... like home.

He takes a deep breath as the emotion finally hits him—they are home, with all that resonates with that. regardless of the debrief outcomes they are safe, they can meet family, they can laugh, eat, be friends. He is no longer perpetually Voyager's first officer. They are free.

Yet he feels as if a door is closing rather than opening.

And there is a ripple that turns to a cheer, as he looks back at the holodeck doors he knows it is going to be her. He still feels her presence. She smiles as she comes in, hair sparkling, light in her step, and a softly glistening emerald dress that hugs and caresses her as she moves. He doesn't know how the gentle draping works, but it begs to be touched. Understated, warm, desirable. He couldnt say whether he is commenting on the fabric or the person. She is all smile, all relaxed and easy confidence. This is her moment.

He notices a slight frown mar Seven's perfect visage as she follows his sight line. He determines that whatever their future dating relationship may be, he should at least be the perfect escort tonight. He tells himself it is for her benefit. After all, at his, er, age, there is no need for him to prove himself, or to save face. is there? He smiles back at seven and pulls her closer to kiss her brow. He misses that this is the moment the Captain looks in his direction, and then more quickly away. She is laughing with some of the security team when he brings Seven across to join her.

If his compliments are slightly stilted, and her responses more so, both ignore this as they part with some alacrity to 'work the room' . Not everyone ignores this uncomfortable exchange. Seven is filing it away, and will review later through all the data acquired by the borg on relationships to parse the meaning.

Currently, though, she is just unsettled, and so moves him into talking to the doctor, something he minimally does, and just smiles, with the appearance of having his thoughts elsewhere. the doctor is very fulsome in his compliments, and Seven's good humour is restored. He does notice this and is grateful to the doctor.

He is much more in the present when they talk to Naomi, promising her a dance later. Naomi, at least, seems quite unconcerned that he is dating Seven. She admits to knowing that Seven was 'seeking instruction in interdependent relationships' . He thinks that this is an unusual way to describe dating. Sam laughs, though he detects some embarrassment, and he looks in a bemused fashion at Seven, who just raises her supra-ocular implant.

-0-0-0-

So far, he thinks as he finally gets to nurse something with an alcohol content, the evening has been quite enjoyable. Even as he thinks this, his heart sinks a bit, calling out the lie. It has clearly not been the worst evening of his life, no one has died. Well, he hasn't died, though it feels that part of himself may have done.

Looking around, he is sure that most of the crew have found it far more than quite enjoyable. Quite a number are looking significantly worse for wear, and another significant proportion are less dressed than decorum would require, semi-hidden in alcoves in pairs, or other groupings. Even in his gloomy mood, he can be pleased at their happiness, their unconstrained enjoyment of mission success and safety.

Spirits, even Harren is having a better night than he is! He watches Harren, enjoying [enjoying!] the attention of some of the engineering ensigns. He had honestly thought Harren had socialised with nobody, but looking at the action unfolding he is rapidly revising that opinion.

His eyes are drawn without volition to the Captain and Mike [Judas] dancing again in the centre of the room. She certainly has had a very enjoyable night, laughing, dancing, basking in the love of her crew and the heady excitement of success. She has a sparkle in her eyes and a flush on her cheeks which suddenly spreads to cover her chest in response to something Mike has whispered in her ear whilst his hands curl around her waist. Holding.

He doesn't need to look at the scuttlebutt to draw the same conclusions as the rest of the crew. The Captain is ready to party, and Mike is eager and willing. She has danced with lots of the crew, he agrees, both male and female. But as she shimmies around Mike again, who is entirely too handsy for his liking, he can read much more into it.

This isn't jealousy, of course. There is nothing to base jealousy on. He has already moved on. Everyone knows he is dating Seven. They have danced together, admittedly just the more formal dances. Seven does not like this loud party atmosphere that has taken over.

Most people, well, he did anyway, thought the Captain would have left early, but no, she is dancing on. Dancing non-stop with everyone. Laughing, hugging, touching, celebrating. If he was miserable, and he isn't saying that he is, this would only heighten his disconnect. He wants to leave.

Seven has gone to sickbay for the Doctor to dampen her levels of auditory stimulation, acuity, or something.

Hence his nursing of the bright purple ale, his third although he is slowing down now.

He watches her dance, and knows that all he is now to her is in the past. She said goodbye.

He danced with Kathryn. There and been speeches and cheers for and by both of them. Hers from the heart, capturing her essence and the love she had hared, and the joiy for their future. His was shorter, and yet from the heart also as he thanked her and the crew. They had led off the dancing, after a bad grace capitulation by Seven. but it was important it seems to the crew. who hollered, cheered and applauded them. They could do nothing else but accept this moment as the command team. his traitorous heart and mind whispered that it could have been oh so much more.

Kathryn had come into his arms somewhat hesitantly. They had not danced together in all these years. And she was right. He totally knew why. Had they done this before, professionalism would have been blasted away. No barrier of protocol or fear could hide the instant force that sprang between them.

With her in his arms he felt complete. She fitted, perfectly. He was sure that he felt his soul expand and breathe. He felt himself start to come to life, a fluttering in his brain, his heart. A healing. As they danced, he refound his peace. It was if all those ragged and torn pieces of each of them became the warp and weft of a new cloth. They were whole. He could exist again, as himself.

He would tell her.

And then, as the dance came to a close she rose onto her toes and gently brushed a kiss against his cheek, and said goodbye. That she loved him, and wished him all the happiness in the world with his new love, his new life. And she walked away without glancing back.

He stood once more over a precipice, his footing uncertain, his mind in disarray.

His hand, unbidden, reaches up to his cheek. It may have been a goodbye, but he is indelibly branded. That kiss, as the dance, has sunk through into those locked away places of heart and soul. He is never going to be free of this love, he has been utterly deluded. He is utterly...

...interrupted. As before, when he watched Kathryn walk out of his personal life, Seven returns and immediately engages him in conversation. He says conversation, but she still hasn't learnt a conversational style. She is telling him of the inappropriate activites she has observed, and the segues into an equally inappropriate feeling and devastatingly, directly-delivered proposition.

He is uncertain how to decline without looking as horrified as he feels. How can he tell this beautiful, misguided woman that actually he has a broken heart that she will never be touching. His somewhat stuttering response, that it is too early for him to consider intimacy, that he is not, not perhaps in the same frame of mind is met with widened eyed surprise and incomprehension.

Seven was absolutely certain of his compliance, and has no frame of reference for this rejection. He watches her look around, and then ascertain that he has been drinking. Her calm delivery suggesting that the alcohol has dulled his ability is excruciatingly embarrassing as well as insulting.

He realizes that at this moment, he doesn't want to discuss this further. That in fact discussing 'them' is something he needs to do in a far more prepared way. So he accepts this reasoning, and offers to walk her back to the cargo bay. He knows that all the eyes watching them walk out of this party early are going to jump to the conclusion that Seven had demanded. At the moment, with the wreck he feels he has made of things, this seems like a positive.

He doesn't stop to consider a pair of those eyes might belong to the Captain, and she may take this as complete confirmation of his ongoing desire.

Back in the impersonal space that used to be his quarters, and finally stripped out of the suit, he sits on his couch and looks at the cage he has been making for himself. It doesn't cross his mind that he could just walk out of it, that he could try for the life he wanted.


	4. A drowning man

He is feeling empty. He thinks this all-encompassing nothing has been sneaking up on him for a while now, insidious and unnoticed. If he thinks about it, he has felt more disconnected and grey, particularly since Quarra. Like some mist or fog has wrapped him up.

Seven had injected some light for him, a glow of light and, he hoped, warmth, but now that isn't working. Mostly, he thinks, because he isnt really trying. Or it's the wrong kind of light, bright and throwing shadows; whereas he is after something softer, mellower, that he can sink into.

And debrief! How does he begin to talk about that. It is unbearably hard. He wishes he could talk it through. It is all angled at entangling the Captain. He knows this. He wishes some of his logs had been less, well, less honest. By then he hadn't really thought they would get home. Even he winced at some of his turns of phrase. His explanations that the log was his only option to think these things through, that he couldn't discuss these things with the Captain or her subordinates, are not seeming to be acknowledged. They haven't even started on his actions as of yet.

Spirits, he wishes Kathryn was here to discuss this with. Where the hell is she anyway? He wracks his memory to see if she said anything at that last debrief, maybe she did. He was too self absorbed. He tried to see her yesterday morning before disembarking for debrief, but she was already gone. Voyager announced she was no longer on board. Those damn starfleet admirals were whisking them all off for medicals and debrief. Yesterday she wasn't in the mess, and he had been distracted by Seven looking wan and uncertain. Although she had been well looked after, and her regeneration was arranged, and she had an independent counsellor all organised, he was still angry at Kathryn for not overseeing this.

He stopped looking for her, angrily telling himself that now they were home she no longer cared. She had danced them out of her damned system. No doubt she was now mixing with all the important captains, leaving them, him far behind. Not a care for her crew, leaving him.

He is suddenly very angry. Angry at her with a mounting rage that disappears as quickly as it arrived. In truth, he is angry at himself for not being beside her, shouldering those damned burdens, where he would have known why she was missing. He is worried for her. He is angry at Starfleet for this cruel division, angry at, well, everything.

Last time this happened he turned it outwards, in anger at the world, the Cardassians in particular, and devoted himself to the twin goals of vengeance and protection. This time there is no crusade to lead, no sublimation in the old glory or death.

But here he is, in this anodyne Starfleet temporary apartment that passes for his quarters, having yet another dinner with Seven. They'll will make perfunctory conversation, she will monologue around the day whilst he nods, having commented on his meal choices, which are so far improving, apparently. She will attempt a kiss and suggest they can consider some 'touching' whilst he struggles not to shudder. He will again fail to end this, as she will look so hopefully at him.

What a mess.

Seven is talking at him; She is describing the inefficiencies of debrief. He nods and hums at what he thinks are appropriate moments. He finds that this is how a lot of their conversations go. Without Voyager actual and present, and currently no interaction with other crew members, who he often hears arranging other meetings, there is a conversational black hole. He supposes that, on Voyager, they would have discussed something relevant to the day. But here? He can't even suggest a holodeck outing.

He feels trapped, he needs to escape. His single-occupant quarters is bare, cold, and uninvinting. Although he can access all his belongings from Voyager, there is hardly any point. That isn't the man he is now, he won't put them in his apartment. They sit on Voyager, boxed up, to beam down or just leave behind. He might as well leave them all behind.

Thinking about some of those items and their memories brings him pain.

Seven notices him flinch. He wonders how she unerringly picks up all that he would wish to conceal, and yet has no real understanding that between them is no ... chemistry.

He tells Seven that he can't discuss his debrief, wishes that he could share it with her. That it has been as expected. She raises her ocular implant. How does she do that? Isn't it connected all the way to the bone, rather than just to the skin? Mistakenly, he asks her. She looks surprised by the sudden change in the directionality of the conversation, but he soon stops paying attention as she talks about the finer neural interface mechanisms of Borg implants.

Three days so far of high intensity debrief, mostly around the Borg, the Hirogen, and the USS Equinox. Essential dissection of his role as XO, whether or not he supported his Captain's decisions. Whether he thought she had exceeded permissible steps, even respecting the difficulties they faced. Whether he thought she was wrong. Wrong to make a treaty with the Borg, wrong to trust Seven of Nine... And, yes, the Vaadwaur debacle, a number of Seven's failures to follow commands, and lack of any real correction following those events. And the Equinox. He breaths out a sigh.

Seven is immediately contrite, having talked at depth about her implants, realizing that she has not kept his attention. He is embarrassed at his lack of focus.

The conversation peters out, and the meal has been finished. Seven suggests that since this is now the 7th date, and 9th if he considers their meals in the mess. That perhaps the could consider a natural progression to...

She stops and looks at his face, which is carefully schooled not to look horrified, before she adds the words 'sexual intimacy.' He is so relieved that she has not used the 'copulation' term Harry reported to Tom, and therefore everyone that he nearly appears to be receptive to her advances.

Her movements suggesting that she may start divesting clothes cause him to stop her. He tells her that they have returned to the alpha quadrant, that he isn't sure that their relationship should currently deepen, or become physically involved. He explains that with so much up in the air, he is not able to make any commitments. He tentatively suggest they work on friendship.

Seven has clearly prepared. Her disappointment at the Voyager party was acute, and his continued non-performance has been unanticipated and derails her expectations of a relationship. She has no friendship group that she can discuss this with, and copious research on a variety of cultural norms have left her frustrated with anthropology and determined to rely on Borg simplicity and compliance.

She responds by haughtilly reeling off all his sexual liaisons since, well, since before she even arrived on Voyager. Complete with stardate, and, where available, commentary on his sexual prowess and performance lifted from personal logs, and then categorized in her own cleverly conceived scoring system for relevant factors, with cross-referencing. She is quite proud of the diligence of her research. He is appalled. Just how much research has she done?

She clearly has had no compunction reviewing all relevant ships logs whilst researching her quarry. Spirits! How did she get hold of all of this? He is relieved that he had his very private logs well-encrypted. Kathryn had insisted for both of them from the start. Their 'private counselor space' she said, since none other was available.

He looks at Seven askance, wondering whether it is possible that she would have been able to break the encryption. He thinks she might not have thought to look, as he, and presumably Kathryn, had kept a two-tier private log system. One that could be revealed, and one that should be concealed.

Continuing, and emphasising that at no point from her research has it previously been apparent that he might have any performance issues, she wonders in a cool voice to him whether the Doctor should see him. She has apparently discussed this with Voyager's EMH, and apparently there are illnesses that effect men as they age, and could be improved with appropriate treatments.

He thinks he might actually be Hell. Loneliness is, perhaps, more preferable. The thoughts of Seven and the Doctor considering his supposed impotence and the cause thereof are perhaps a personal relationship nadir.

He feels the need to defend, to state that performance anxiety is not the issue. He is just not convinced of the viability of their relationship. Not is this format. He terminates their intimate relationship, damn, but he wishes he could remember how Naomi put it. He is pleased with how analytical he sounds.

Seven appears, well not precisely angry, but more... determined. She demands to know in what way she does not measure up to these sexual predecessors. She is listing her attributes, for Spirits' sake! And the other crewmen that she could have considered dating, that she has given him a singular honour. She starts to talk of her holodeck experiences, but breaks off, flushing. He is relieved. He has never been interested in holoprogrammed sex. Even less following the debacle of fairhaven.

He tries to mollify her, but as Kathryn would have told him, Seven is never mollified. She never settles for an alternative viewpoint without further evidence and contemplation. She is very self focussed still. He is too busy being very relieved that he has made a decision, and told her that he wishes to call a halt to their romance, such that it is. He perhaps doesn't realise that his gentle words to reassure her of her beauty, intelligence and charm are potentially being misinterpreted. It might be that she believes that he has changed his mind. It might be that she requires more data on which to alter her decision to pursue him.

He doesn't really listen, or particularly note, that she has given him their customary single kiss for the evening before leaving the appartment.

In the future, he will feel guilty for being such a cad.

-0-0-0-

He is surprised to find Seven again waiting for him before entering the mess for their lunch. He thought that she would be giving him a clear berth. Maybe, he surmises incorrectly, she has more questions for him. Or maybe, looking around the mess, there would be no space for them with the senior officers, she feels alone.

A wave of sympathy crosses him, and instead of querying her presence at his side, he starts a talk about a neutral subject, her aunt irene. All of them have an hour a day personal real time vidcalls with family, allthough their return is slightly under wraps. Irene Hanssen has been enthusiastically overjoyed by her survival.

He is encouraging. Irene seems a warm, mothering woman. She has been so excited to find a descendent since the pathfinder messages, and Kathryn was very hopeful that she would give seven the security and home circumstances she needed. captain! the captain felt seven would settle best with a mother.

O spirits, it dawns on him that in a way Kath.. the captain was not only mentor but perhaps surrogate mother to Seven. And he has been ... dating her ... daughter? He is surprised that actual phaser burns havent scorched him. he keeps smiling though, as Seven actually appears happy. There is animation in her eyes as she talks about where Irene hopes to take her. he notes with relief that at no point does Seven suggest he might come too. He has that morning suddenly recalled her kiss, and had been less certain about their breakup.

He enthuses over her plans and then adds that ''kaya is on her way to Earth with her son' and pure joy fills his heart at this. he is about to carry on, to talk about them when she interrupts

'then you will not be alone when i leave this weekend' it isn't a question, but a statement. He nods, and then frowns.

'I will be visiting my aunt, as I explained.' clearly annoyed by his lack of concentration.

'I think it will give us both ample time to consider whether I wish to procede with the termination of our romantic affilliation'

he starts to interject, to explain that their romantic affiliation is terminated, whether unilaterally or mutually, but she launches into her detailed itinerary. What does she mean, if 'she' wants to procede? Hasn't the 'romantic affililation' already been 'terminated'. He gets ready to ask these questions, but instead listens to her talking about meeting her Aunt, something akin to excitement appears to be suffusing her face, and he finds it endearing. Perhaps there is no need to hammer home their breakup, and he hopes that after the weekend she will perhaps realise it is for the best.

He doesn't want to cause any gossip here in full view of the crew. He doesnt feel the need for them to be aware of the truncated length of this relationship.

He notes that she will be discretely accompanied by suitable starfleet security. He approves of this, rarely they allowed Seven on away missions and each time seemed to meet with disaster of one sort or the other. He is suprisied that she is allowed to leave, being Borg, he thought that might be more of an issue.

He tunes back into Seven, who is explaining the fjord chalet that is remote and that should shield her and family from any external view. She explains the forcefields as well, and he realises a significant amount of leeway being granted here. Starfleet protecting what they hope will be a huge asset. Is this the Captain? Tying her to earth and family as home, providing security, creating her a life here.

He looks around the mess at the other crew members. Are they also having a future lined up for them, has the captain or starfleet prepared a future for everyone? He feels a spike of irritation that anyone would be considering his future when he is so uncertain of it himself. 'So like Kathryn to think she knows everyone best' he huffs under his breath, and then has to apologise to Seven. he thinks she almost certainly heard him.

The table with the bridge crew, the remaining senior officers, is vibrating with... something. He cant see what has everyone agitated. Tom has banged his hand down on the table, and Miral cries. B'Elanna looks surprisingly angry and Harry, Harry looks as if someone has hurt him. Mike is there too, talking urgently to them. No tuvok, no Captain, and no Doctor.

He has not joined them since the announcement of his relationship. He has sat seperately with Seven.

'Chakotay?'

In fact he hasnt talked to anyone other than Seven, and the counsellor and debrief team. He should really talk to the crew, make sure debrief is going well, check their plans. Its what the Captain would do. Where the hell is she anyway? And Tuvok? He hasn't seen him either since? Well, he can't recall seeing Tuvok at all actually?

'Chakotay?'

It seems without the captain in charge it all spins away. He knows something is wrong. He should be feeling elation that they are home, safe. He should be standing in the middle of the senior crew, fistpumping the air with joy. He should have Kathryn by his side. He should be grabbing his future. He knows that he needs to fight...this, the limbo that he feels trapped in.

'Chakotay!'

It is an imperious voice of absolute command, and he is not the only one to swing round to face Seven as it pierces through all the conversation in the mess.

'if you would prefer, we will sit with the senior crew at our next meal.' Her voiice is icy and clipped, which is not unusual, and he cannot tell from her face whether she is angry at his inattention, he has been after all not been paying a great deal of attention.

'It is time to procede with further debrief' and she stands to exit, clearly assuming he will follow.

glumly he collects his tray too as he follows her out. he will speak to Tom this evening. He has put it off too long. This disconnect must stop. He is still the first officer, he still has a job to do. The new determination gives a visible straightening to his posture, a firmness to his step. He is aware that the eyes of the crew follow him out, and he doesn't need visual confirmation that B'Elana is scowling.

He misses his friends, he misses cameraderie and conversation. Mike almost blanked him, perhaps because he was with Seven, or because of his failing friendship, and the senior team have been unfailingly courteous, which is a bad sign. Still, and again, he has always been with Seven.

And he misses Kathryn. Where the hell is she? He is determined to find out.


	5. From pause to action

'what the actual...!' he thinks, nursing his sore jaw as he sits in starfleet medical. That Paris got a punch in shows him how much things have changed. That he broke Paris's jaw as an automatic maquis response reflex makes him more despondent. No, actually he is horrified. He is not this man, he doesn't recognise himself. What the hell is going on? To him and to the crew. That they should have come to blows! That Tom wouldn't press any charges is neither here nor there. He should have had control. He is better than this.

Kathryn would be both furious and disappointed. He knows shame.

The medic fusses around and fixes, and then scuttles out. He is gazing at the counsellors card with mandatory appointment in his hand when a cough and a barked 'report' has him jumping off the biobed and at attention.

A clearly angry Admiral Paris hoves into view before him. He looks down from the glare, unable to justify his eye contact. Well, so ends his starfleet career, he supposes.

Spirits, but Kathryn would be so ashamed of him. He cannot help the sag to his shoulders, and unwanted, his face falls into a picture of misery.

Kathryn! He had no idea. He hadn't known. He hadn't...cared.

'two to beam to my office'

and unexpectedly he finds himself in a well appointed but not ostentatious space. Paris orders tea from the replicator and puts it on the table infront of two comfortable chairs.

'Sit'

the automatic reaction has him sat even before his brain has processed the command, the chair and the tea mean not a ream out. Paris is looking carefully at him, and as before, he cannot meet the gaze.

'i see' paris begins in a considered, almost avuncular way.

'When I read Katie's logs around making you first officer, I was horrified. She made leaps of faith that I could find no basis for. Yes, she made a rational plan based on crew merger, but first officer?' he pauses.

'drink up!' barked again, and he hurriedly picks up the tea, and despite its temperature being hotter than he is used to, and lacking sugar more bitter, he does indeed drink.

'and then as her logs progress, I can see her trust paying off. In fact, I see her seeing you as an equal, worthy. I know Katie, and I know how to read her when she talks about her crew. She trusts you implicitly. With her life, in all respects'

He doesn't know what to say, so he takes a sip of tea. He is thinking of Voyager, and how he wishes that were still true.

"I would think that for the second time in her life she has let her heart rule her head, except that my son and his wife also see you as that man. Or did.'

He looks up and sees compassion in the Admirals eyes. 'I have been there Chakotay, perhaps not the same there, but I have lost my sense of self, of worth and made... unfortunate choices'

Paris stands up and walks to his window, San Francisco streets spread out. Not a bridge view, Chakotay notices.

'I let down my family, alienated and lost my son. Kathryn has brought them back. I have a second chance. You cannot wait for so long for your second chance Chakotay'

Paris turns and faces him again. 'PTSD? Decision Fatigue? I'll let the pyschs sort that for you slowly over time, but I would like you to start now and step back up to the plate'

He starts to shake his head, but Paris is not going to let it go so easy. 'What about Kathryn?' he demands 'aren't you going to stand by her side?' he quotes 'and make her burdens lighter?'

He is quick to anger and stands, 'those are...'

'private logs?' Paris responds. 'Maybe, but I got those words from Gretchen. You may wish to consider how they got there?' and after a pause 'and if you still want them to hold true'

Paris has spoken in an even tone, and sits in an un-threatening way, and is out of shape, and yet... He bows to the inevitable, nods and sits. He has come to this.

'drink your tea' says Paris.

Silence stretches between the men. Chakotay continues to gaze into the tea, hoping to find truth, hope and resolution in the leaves at the bottom.

Finally he talks. Halting, ragged half whispered sentences pick up momentum and turn into rushed cadences, falling over themselves in the eagerness to be said, to escape, words jostling for primacy. Paris, for all of his unprepossessing exterior has been there, as he said. he has been shaped by his experiences, and realises that he is the fulcrum, the pivotal point for Chakotay to reshape his future before he loses the chance. And so Paris sits and listens. It is akin to the confessional.

He does it because of their shared love for Kathryn. He does it to repay her for returning his son. He does it because he recognises the lost soul in front of him. He does it because he is an excellent starfleet admiral.

Finally the turbulent stream in spate that is Chakotay's cry for self-understanding trickles to a close. Paris replaces the empty cup with a fresh one and nods. This, then, is the forgiveness.

He looks at the mug and then Paris, finally meeting his eye. They both know he will go to the counsellor, whose card is tucked in his uniform. They both know that he has already achieved the key step. He has self-recognition.

Stepping back into himself, he straightens and then with Paris, begins to formulate a plan. A plan to get Kathryn released back to them.

-0-0-0-

He doesn't need to decline Seven's offer for dinner. It has been decisively withdrawn. She is quick to inform him that she is horrified at the primitive exchange of punches earlier. Chakotay is not who she thought, a gentle man. Instead, he appears to have had an energetic rage about him. He has never shown her this side, although she had heard stories of his past and discounted them as hearsay. Clearly she saw him in command, but even so, and despite the terms of their meeting, she has created a different underlying frame of his personality. She has confused him with a tempered and adapted holocharacter developed for her instruction. She has been in... error. She suddenly feels apprehensive in his presence, uncertain what trigger would make this stranger re-appear.

She states her approval of their relationship termination, that it was inappropriate to have attempted intimacy with a father figure, and that she will avoid similar disappointment in the future.

He agrees that perhaps he felt more of a paternal responisbility for her welbeing, and the lines were inapporpraitely blurred. He is not aware how his violent outburs has affected her. Even if he thought about it, he may well have underestimated its impact. He has never really fully understood that Seven has several different developmental ages due to her time with the Borg. He knows the tsunkatse fighter in her and believes she is not affected, unlike the captain, who understood Seven's horror all to clearly and her visceral response to primitive violence. He therefore calmly agrees that there has been learning on both sides and wishes her all the best, rather than apologise and attempt an explanation for his altercation.

Borg do not run away, even humanised borg, but she certainly has a rather brisk pace as she makes her escape. He hopes that it isn't into the doctors photonic arms that she falls. She deserves to test romance more appropriately.

Instead he goes to join what is left of the senior team, boosted by Ayala and prepares to take their condemnation.

-0-0-0-

Finally back in his quarters he gets to replay the day. He sees the connections between the debrief, keeping him off balance as it continues to push an offensive action against his captain, his dissociative state related to the PTSD the counsellor has provisionally diagnosed and he and Adm Paris both clearly agree with, and his avoidance of decision making , also attributable to keeping his requirements to place his life and welbeing at Voyager's disposal. The window the admiral opened and the counsellor widened has let in a cleansing draft that allows him not only to see those decisions, but forgive himself, well, at least in part.

More surprising has been the ready forgiveness of his voyager family. A punch from B'Elanna before she handed over Miral, and he had slipped back into their company as if he had never beem away. A humble apology to Tom, gracefully accepted before a resumption of friendly banter that was wholesome, and medicine to his torn heart and worn soul. Breathing in their friendship, as necessary as the oxygen in the air, he is finally able to see a path to his future.

As more of the senior team join them, overjoyed at their return, he finally joins the dots, that the captain's segregation is a pre-court martial protocol. The harshness of questionning looking for divisions, the tearing open the logs and parsing them for dissension. The senior team's outrage he captures, placing it in a context, a statement to present to the admirals determining her immediate future. Reviewing all their worst disputes, the resolutions as well as highlighting the beacon she set for them, they work into the night.

He was energised by being back in the team, he wonders when and how he was ever separated. His sense of self, confidence in his command and strategy, lessons deeply embedded, are there to surface. When Seven and the doctor creep in, uncertain of their welcome, he is the first to step up, welcome them and get them up to speed. This is the team that Kathryn built, working together with purpose under his direction. He isn't quite back to himself, but he feels something unfurl. He feels confidence and strength return. This is not just her team, it is his too, as she has always said.

As he opens his medicine bundle, retrieved from obscurity, he clears his mind to make his peace with his sense of self. He needs to be all that he is to stand for the crew at her side.

Akoocheemoya...

-0-0-0-

He strode into the tribunal venue as the XO of Voyager. Proud, commanding of presence and yet also as an honest witness for interogation. He was succesful. He felt as he gave his testimony and that derived from their crew, the flux of the admiral's position. His years of experience, his tactitian skills, honed with the multiples of first contacts and negotiations in the delta quadrant allowed him to direct those currents. In truth, the admirals were keen to find his Captain excellent. They needed the raw data, the lens of his experienced eyes to be confident. The dominion war had disturbed them from their confidence, they had tasted doubt, fallibility and were keen for surety where there was uncertainty. He provided it.

Their final questions, delving into the interpersonal relationship of the command team gave the truth of the Captain's parameters, if not in the direction she would have supposed. He also clearly stated his objective to change those parameters irrevocably now the command team were home. He was not asking permission.

-0-0-0-

i _am sorry, this is a nth multiple attempt to re-write this. Either my mojo has left, or my plan was too complicated for my skillset. But I did need to put out the turning chapter, and so here it is. I might try again._


	6. A New Beginning

Professor Janeway, thankyou for accepting my call' his voice sounds confident, he hides well the nervous energy that is catching him. He has his own command stance.

He looks at the cautiously polite, still face of the woman on the vidscreen, tracing the similarities and the differences. clearly related, but not similar. however, he can see the tenseness in the eyes and jaws, just like her daughter.

'this is a social call' he says gently, aware of her previous loss, that he is in uniform, that perhaps he should have thought just a little bit more. He chides himself. There is a lot of delta quadrant behaviour to let go of before rehabilitation is complete.

...and at this her face relaxes. It is only just noticeable to someone, who like him, has made a study of the Janeway mannerisms.

'i am sorry, Commander Chakotay I believe?' and he berates himself further for missing the other half of the introduction.

'Yes, sorry, Commander Chakotay XO of the federation starship voyager, your daughters...friend' and at this she raises an eyebrow, and there is the very slightest movement of her eyes, infinitesimally small, but clearly suggesting he is babbling. He would swear that it is an aborted eye roll.

'what can I do for you, Commander' he notes that she is still formal, her face giving nothing away, and wonders whether she has heard something of his recent relationship misadventure. Unfortunately, he thinks that this is likely. After all, a woman that had been told of his promise, would also be aware that it had ... not lapsed entirely but taken a back seat, particularly on the personal front.

He smiles his best smile to her, and explains that he has invited her daughter for dinner, something they used to do regularly, but, well, had stopped for a myriad of now inconceivable reasons. That he is hoping that he can atone for rainchecks past and go some way towards... re-establishing their friendship. That it is important to him, that it might be one of the most important things currently.

He trails to a close, babbling again. There are definitely improvements to be made to his civilian interactions. He also thinks that his earnestness has probably explained more of his hopes than he would have liked. However, sometimes it is best to put all the cards on the table, particularly to the mother of the woman that he has wronged.

She thaws, he smiles and dimples, and her mother's recipe for vegetable biriani that he was hoping for is eventually his, and as a bonus, the recipe for caramel chocolate brownies that she hasn't even shared with Phoebe. The conversation is longer than he had planned, he finds more of his hopes and aspirations are revealed than he had expected, and he blushes at her strategising on his behalf, clearly having completely understood the subtext of his call. He is left with an effusive goodbye, and request that he call her Gretchen. He believes that perhaps he has her approval. He hopes so.

The afternoon debrief and counselling is luckily straightforwards, allowing him to plan in the gaps to the minute his strategy for when he is released. He hurries back to his apartment with the ingredients delivered. He feels galvanised. First the dinner, following Prof Janeway's recipe, the vegetable biryani is prepared and placed to be heated at the appropriate time. The brownies are also created.

Smiling and humming an old song from his childhood he gazes critically at the sterile quarters that surrounds him. He shakes his head at the idiocy of ever thinking he could be happy in such an environment. He had pared himself down so much that none of him remained on view.

Today has been all about action, moving forwards, actually living. introspection, or the avoidance of introspection, has played little part outside of the counselling. This time with a betazoid expert, rather than the triage counselling of before. She knew when to push, when to listen. She said counselling was like an external validation of the internal conversation he should be having, but also a chance to re-examine where he placed importance. It had been a relief, to finally say what had been blocked, that had only just been touched on with Paris. To start to uncover all that he had buried, to understand why it was buried.

It gives him pause, Kathryn did this too, earlier perhaps than he did. Her responsibility was so much greater, her guilt a strangling vine that had periodically pulled her under. He wonders for the first time since that terrible time in the void about her health. He wonders about the Admiral that came back for them. He thinks that there was perhaps a lot they should have wondered sooner together.

At least they have that chance, now.

He swings back into action. He is a man who given a chance balances introspection with purposeful action. He has sublimated personal purpose to a shared goal, a shared gaol he thinks, and now he is reclaiming the personal. He is actively shaping his future.

Opening a beamed down crate from Voyager he is soon singing loudly a medley of songs, often hopping from one to another mid verse, as he spreads his treasures around the room before consigning the crates back to starfleet requisitions.

His favourite throw sits once more on the back of the couch, he smiles at it, imagining Kathryn snuggled in it , late in the evening perusing PADDS with a frown until he plies her with coffee, wine and stories. His smile widens remembering her capitulations, and then false reprimands when she realises how much time has flown past laughing. His smile deepens as he now wonders where coffee, wine, stories and laughter may lead now that they have the freedom and opportunity to explore this friendship.

The hotchpotch of tribal carvings he created on voyager and, he thinks with reverence, New Earth are interspersed with his memory laden archeological finds. He can finally give his life on New Earth the position it deserves. It was short, but it was important. Hiding it from himself, the crew and not sharing the relevance with Kathryn after their return damaged him. It damaged them both, making decisions to demonstrate they had moved on. There will be no more burying of actions and consequences.

He even places some much treasured books mostly kept at his bedside on the shelves. The eagle glyph sits happily with the representation of flight he carved after seeing the sky spirits. His spiritual and creative side comfortable with his passionate interest in xeno-anthropology. This is not a starfleet commander's quarters. This is his space.

His hands start to itch to feel wood take shape in his hands once more. it has been years since he had the desire to be creative, let alone had the time. Not today, he has other priorities today.

The biryani has started cooking, and the wafting spice smells warms him. He is happy, truly happy. Not just because of the delicately judged neurotransmitter rebalance required and given that accompanied the treatment to his jaw, nor the betazoid counselling although both of these has played a part. He knows that now, and he can use these tools to become himself. No, he is happy because he has a path, a journey, and a hope for its ending. He is not lost.

He feels his heart expand. He knows that there are no certain outcomes from this dinner, even if he secretly, or perhaps not so secretly, hopes she might stay for breakfast. He tells himself that they first need to rebuild trust, air those grievances and lance the past. The hopefully they might together find the spark that fizzed between them, give time for the feelings to grow... His body responds to his elation, and he has to tamp that down.

Friendship first, he says to himself sternly.

But he hopes.

He looks around his quarters, yes they feel like his, there is still a something he needs to add.

Candles and some peace roses are placed on the table, but still...

he then replicates some frames with Voyager celebratory images through the years and places these on a shelf. He has gained everything from this time. These people are his family, thrown together they created a whole. He speaks a blessing as his fingers trace the frames. Not his only family though, and a much beloved image of his sister, husband and son is placed on the shelf too.

Finally, and somewhat bashfully, he unwraps the image of himself with kathryn from a luau right at the start of the journey. He has always loved this picture. It has been hidden, but now he places it with the others. There to be seen, but not dominating. He imagines her fingers trailing over it, wondering. He hopes that it will be a message.

The crate contains other items, dear and precious.

He unfurls the silk quilt of many colours and takes it to his bedroom. It doesn't cover the bed, and instead he drapes it like a banner across the middle. He has finally admitted to himself the imagery and purpose of this gift, its promise not just its beauty.

his dream catcher once more takes pride of place above his bed, and then, with some reverence, he brings the headboards into their place. Created on New Earth, packed away for years, he can look on them again.

He is content with the honest simplicity of this room. It is done. It is ... enough.

It catches him by surprise, that he can be content again. Such a change from just one action. He owes Tom.

-0-0-0-

He showers unhurriedly, letting the water flow across his muscles, moving them with the powered flow and letting them dance, and then relaxing into the sensation. As always he had before he says the short prayer for the blessing of water, reconnecting both with his spiritual self and history, and feeling the strength it gives him. He could say that he is being reborn in the water, enjoying the warmth as it cleanses him, visualising stepping forth the man he plans to be.

He imagines the course of the water droplets, closed eyes and deep regular breathing, a meditation, placing in them worries of the day, of previous days to carry away. Those worries are his no more. He feels the jets massage his head, and he shakes it, allowing water to fly free, with his concerns over his past actions, dispersed and without power to hurt.

He feels a course of water move down his jawline, edge the sternocleidomastoid and then trickle down over the sternum. Some of the water divaricates over the pectorals, outlining the muscle. He is honed. Since Quarra he has boxed, worked out, trying to instill that way self worth. He allows the mistaken accounting of self worth through body image flow free as the water streams across rectus abdominis. Despite it being a poor representation of self worth, he is rather proud of his toned body, the delineation of muscles and he hopes that she will like it too, that she will think him worth waiting for. He knows that it is on the level of their souls, their heart, their mind that the real joining occurs, but he has some vanity, and for this moment he wants to see desire for his body in her eyes.

In the shower he imagines her small yet so active hands following the trajectory of the water, down past the psoas, lower. He is at one with the water. He feels it ebb and flow across him, caressing and promising. He is at one with the primeval forces and he draws strength from that.

In this watery cocoon, he allows himself the luxury of imagination.

Humming once more, he steps out towards his future. A low slung towel loosely wrapped around his hips, he towels dry his hair and shaves, a nice close smooth shave. He remembers how she likes to run her hands across the side of his face. He hopes that she will do so again, his imagination again has her slim fingers stroking, caressing. He growls at himself as he raises his eyebrows. Just friends, remember. Slowly! He has plenty of time...

He looks in the mirror and sees a confident alpha male looking back, wanting to demonstrate his... best for his mate. He grunts dismissively at the black hair that he faces. It is time to be completely true to himself so he runs the sonic over his hair. the doctor promises it will return to its natural look, though clearly couldnt leave well alone and commented on the aging effect and how undesirable this might be to a young woman. He is somewhat shocked by the amount of grey and is nearly tempted to replace the colour. Instead he holds true and looks more carefully grins and thinks...wolf! It suits him, it is him as he is now with seven years of additional peppering of wisdom, seven years! it was folly to hide.

He hid so much.

The glint is back in his eyes, and his dimples are primed. The woman of his heart, dreams and future is once more in his sights, and he is confident. Yes! Finally he is confident. He is confident that they can share dinner, laugh and draw closer.

Clothing, well, he thinks it is time for something new. Something bold, and yet understated. He wants her eye to rove over him, he wants to be the focus of her attention. It is time for them to see each other as the people they are, not hiding beind their roles. Yes, he would like to reference their shared past, but the time for uniform is gone. his replicator rations are copious. Although he knows she liked his maquis look, he wants to reflect who he is now, or who he hopes he might be. Starfleet and maquis, combining his contrary nature. he looks through the options, yes a deep wine red silk shirt, slightly loose at the top, but tailored. He shrugs it on, keeping the top buttons undone. He knows what even one undone button has acheived in the past. three? he has hopes.

He grins at himself and shrugs on the very tightly fitting black jeans. Usually he might be more casual, a T and a loose overshirt or jacket with loose trousers, she mocked his vests, but this time... semi formal and also more revealing. She has always liked to place her hand on his chest and there is no harm in reminding her and ensuring a sensual experience when she inevitably does. The shirt tucked in, to remind...people... that tucked in things can be untucked. A belt with a buckle he designs, silver, worked and shaped like the serpents in the book of kells. He likes the symbolism, even if not his tribe. It also draws the eye.

He grins at the effort he is taking. She deserves his best.

He is stepping out into the living area as the feeling hits him. Absolutely spot on time. He hopes that she has dressed casually too. He feels that thrill of excitement in his belly, and somehow he knows that this is going to work.

He has hopes.


	7. suum cuique pulchrum est

The candles are lit, a soft glow flickering with warmth to bask in and he turns to check on the meal in stasis when he feels it. It is that small little snap that says she is near. He is surprised by how obvious it is, maybe because finally he is listening. He waits for the chime, but it is slow to come. He turns and looks at the door, grinning, as he imagines her on the other side, finger hovering over the chime. Maybe, like him, she has prepared for this to be their moment and is taking a deep breath before making that step. He frowns, maybe, instead, she is uncertain about him, about this dinner.

He shakes his head and walks with ease towards the door. in his head he calls it his destiny. He has been sure of this evening ever since he saw her step off the transporter pad.

His morning debrief had wound to a close earlier than expected. Now there was less pressure over rehashing the captain's decisions it was free to take a more indolent course. He had been escorted to the transporter pad by a gruff Paris, thanking him for his intervention with one breath, and giving him a warning over his future behaviour towards Kathryn with the next before leaving him slightly bemused and more than slightly expectant waiting alone.

Kathryn!

She shimmered into view and he was hard pressed not to rush up to her and hug her. Only a few days apart, but light years in spirit, and he needed to reconnect, let her know just how much had changed. So he snapped to attention with a smart 'captain' and then dimpled a smile as she quirked her irrepressible half grin at him and raised an eyebrow.

He stepped forwards hand outstretched with a 'kathryn' to help her off the platform, which she ignored to jump off in bouyant style. A rejection? he didn't have long to worry aas she quickly tucked her arm through his as she demanded he take her to the crew. Not a rejection, an ownership, a statement of friendship. It wasn't far to the mess hall, and in a tactical move worthy of the maquis, he stopped them before entering, demanding or begging, depending on perspective, that she join him for dinner. He had said in a determined voice that the time for rainchecks was over, and that he was free for any and all arrangements she would like to make, but particularly tonight, when he would eat ... crow.

She had first blinked, suspiciously quickly, turning her face slightly not effective in covering the heightened shimmer of her eyes, reminding him of the depth that he had hurt her. The hollow feeling had returned, and he felt a quiet desperation that this shouldnt be where their story ended. Then facing him again with chin up, proudly and with a challenge, she had reminded him that she had never liked eating crow, and hoped her meal would be something eminently more celebratory. He shouts a laugh as they enter the mess hall, the sound drowned by the scraping back of chairs and standing to attention of all the Voyagers present to which he barks 'captain on the deck' before they all cheer.

She is led, smiling and happy to the centre where her senior team sit, greeting or touching shoulders and arms of the crew as she walks past. The crew have missed her, her steady presence from steely eye to laughing dervish supporting them for seven years. With her rejoining them, they all can breathe easily, and view their reunions with family with delight rather than with the hint of guilt. They are a family. They are all home.

He snaps too as the chime rings, pulling him back into the present, towards the future he has desired for so long.

Opening the door with a grin he notices her suck in her breath as her eyes rake him from top to bottom, approvingly. This is going to go well.

As she sashays in, she sweeps a bottle of champagne from behind her back and he nods approvingly.

'thankyou for your support, Chakotay'

he takes a mental step back. He has moved beyond the last week, the last few months if he is honest. In his mind he is back where he should have always been, at her side. however, he is pulled back to the awareness that she has not made this journey with him.

The pop as the bottle opens and the following fizz if anything enhance his sensation of being on the cusp of something. It is the calm pre volcano or earthquake tremor. Their own cataclysm to follow. But he calmly pours each a glass, and hands hers with a kiss to her cheek. as he turns away to busy himself with the dinner, he smothers a grin.

He has seven years of Kathryn experience that he has not made the most of in the past. He knows that all his actions need to be clear. Clear that she means everything to him, clear that this is their time, should she choose to make it so. No deception, no game.

He doesnt need to look to know she has sat herself by his window to consider his moves. He always knows where she is in a room, and seven years of Kathryn watching gives a certain predictability to her actions.

During the meal he can see that behind their conversation she is analysing, parsing his actions, not relaxing fully. He has a way to go. He understands that. But she exclaims over the vegetable biryani, the smell delicious and the taste better. He dimples a grin when she says her mother couldn't have made it better, and he is hoping she doesnt sense a conspiracy. She hates that.

That she is sitting, laughing at his stories of Harry stuffing as much real apple pie in his stomach until groaning the doc had to provide a digestive treatment is a start, a return to the dinners they shared whilst bonding on Voyager at the start. He enjoys her smiling with joy at the description of B'Elanna meeting her new family, and the tears Owen shed of joy welcoming them home. He sensed her underlying wistfulness that she missed these moments, the moments she had worked for for seven years and he is angry that starfleet took these away from her.

He chases away this mood before it can take hold with recounting the things the crew haven't done. They have refused to meet their families, to talk to them face to face until their Captain can do so with them. They havent broken voyager family bonds. Instead they have had meals together, celebrated together and waited for her.

After all, they never leave a man behind.

He watches her smile of delight that she hasn't missed the moment when Naomi meets her father, chasing across her face the mood of exasperation that the crew would put her first at this time, followed by pride in her family sticking together, and relief that she is part of this wider life. She hasn't lost them.

The smell of chocolate brownies wafts, and she exlaims in delight.

'welcome home, Kathryn' as he grins back at her, remembering their discussion on foods that she missed.

The warmth of her smile is all that he needs. But he knows it is time to perhaps start to lay some ghosts. Maybe. He tentatively broaches the subject of Seven, that his mid life crisis, or aberration, whatever she calls it is over. That it could never have progressed, that he regrets the decision, the hurt it has caused. It is time to eat crow as promised.

He watches her frown, backing off faster than a ferengi from a cooperative venture.

'no, chakotay' she says decisively 'not today, let us today be just us' and she sends him a wry smile 'enjoy being who we were this evening. We need to talk, but not today?'

'who we are, Kathryn' he insists, but otherwise he will acquiesce. Her pace, his loyalty and devotion are perhaps in doubt. He is hopeful, he has to be hopeful.

And though they both try, some of the easy start to the evening is gone, and he curses his misstep. He thinks she already knew, both the relationship and its ignoble end. Seven had taken her aside for a while. but it was important to him to be honest. He should always have been honest.

He has a secret weapon, the last bottle of his Antarian cider, which he presents with a flourish. He bats aside her demurral, having already shared a bottle of champagne. He can feel the alcohol in his system, removing some of his inhibitions and thinks this might be what they need, to kickstart their breaking of barriers. So he plays his card, laughing that this has a barely there alcohol content, and never has alcohol induced any of their bonhomie. The captain of a maquis ship had to play a role, so drinking hard was expected in some quarters, but he never lost that tactical advantage by revealing the near teatotal drink of preference.

The laughter they share over his recounting of the deception, and how he played it at beating Tom at pool, or keeping his its earlier, when in the maquis brings them some way back to their earlier comfortable togetherness. He uses his moment to presuppose they will usually breakfast, lunch and post debrief meet whilst together. He doesnt push but is sure they both understand that their command team business will be only a small proportion of their time together. It is something about the softening of her look that strikes him he hasnt seen for a long time.

The evening has long turned into night when she rises from the comfortable couch, coffee long finished, to return back to her quarters. They had been bathed in the sunset and then watched the moonrise together, lost in memories of shore leaves and things thought forgotten and moments shared. A smile to each other and a further incremental shift in their companionship. A friendship bond revived.

He wants more, he hopes for so much more, but this he could live with. He had forgotten how she was his peace.

As she closes to say goodbye, it hits him that this is the moment he must seize. The evening has been enjoyable, and they are relaxing back into their friendship but without a push, some added impetus, the inertia of this balance may never be challenged. Now is the moment.

Her hand is on his shoulder, and she leans to kiss on the cheek, an invitation of something perhaps this time, rather than a goodbye and closure. There, it is his opportunity, and ever the tactition, he is going to take it. At the last minute he moves his face towards her.

Not quite enough, her lips land offset on his own. A gentle rest against them. They both still. She doesn't move away, he daren't move. Perhaps their future is decided by the next moment or movement.

Her lips do not complete the kiss, but instead move away fractionally, he feels his heart and soul moving away with them, straining to bring her back.

But the fractional gap between them feels like a chasm. As he prepares again to take the future in his hands, or lips in this case, she sways back in, closer body contact, and her lips, they move across his. Not a kiss, a lip to lips caress. With her mouth, she explores the shape of his. Gentle, like the butterfly wings, or the landing of snowflakes, she moves and presses. He daren't breathe, daren't move incase she should cease this exploration. They are on the cusp, no, they are already falling, his heart expands, his soul delights.

So when she pulls away again, with an almost feeling of the closure of a kiss, he bends towards her to chase those lips. Her free hand places against his heart and his wrap finally around her. The next meeting of lips is very definitely a kiss, no a series of light kisses, gentle, hesitant, yet inexorably connecting them. His heart expands, his soul breathes, he smiles, they smile, lips still together.

Her arms move up, around his neck, they breathe and the kisses start to press more, to deepen, she sucks at his lower lip and he opens, an offer. Another pause, an offer accepted, and now they are truly kissing. He knows that this is it. They are really going to do this now.

It is a dam breaking. Emotions, love and hurt, joy and pain all flow. He feels tears seep from his eyes, and dampness from Kathryn. It is, they are, overwhelming together. He feels... free. He hasn't realised how enclosed, how trammelled he has been until this moment, when he is finally allowing himself to feel everything.

Their kiss is incendiary, the power of the feelings making him feel simultaneously both the strongest man that ever lived, and also in need of a bulkhead or wall to balance them against. The tears of joy and relief forgotten as desire and passion burn through. Just as he decides to move, to be decisive, he finds himself pushed backwards, couch catching him at the knee so that he semi falls into a surprised seated position.

'kath..' he starts to expostulate in surprise, but the ferocious look in her eyes dissuades him. If he wasn't already desperate with desire, the look of want in her eyes would have put him on instant red alert. instead, well its best to say that it enhances his appreciation. he has little time to think, because although he is a man of action, his captain is also capable of rapid decision making, even recklessness when the situation warrants it.

He gasps as she straddles him, sitting on his lap, close, so close, breathing out his name as if it is the only thing that has ever mattered. He is entirely lost in her. The fierce kisses demand a desperate response, he plunders her mouth whilst his hands stroke her back, pull her ass, the ass he has ogled so covetously for 7 damned long years, closer into him.

She is passionate, all consuming and he is lost in the sensation of her, he realises his shirt is unbuttoned as her hands trace his u his chest to his shoulders. Her hands caress all of him, roaming his back, his arms as she slips the shirt down, she has her hands through his hair, touch memorising the tattoo of his manhood. his hands have also been caressing skin, slipping under her silken vest, and when he has enough sense to think, he has a momentary concern for the speed of this encounter.

but there she is, rocking against him, deliciously his, and he is entirely hers.

They separate to breathe again and he kisses along her jaw and down her neck as she stretches back whilst sighing his name.

And then suddenly, shockingly, she snaps back.

'Chakotay... stop... no!' and he stops immediately. He hurtles into the present, horrified that he may have misread her. His breathing is hard, his hands still rest on her, and hers on him. Looking at her face she is gazing worriedly out the window before a wide eyed return back to him.

'no' she says gently, clearly understanding his concern, and moves a hand to his face 'I want this, I... really want this but...' and his heart contracts back. Surely they couldnt have come so far just for this only. He continues to search her face for clues, taking courage from the fact she hasn't jumped up, that she does want this, him.

perhaps, maybe he should offer to stick to friendship first, losing her from his life would be just... unbearable.

'Too soon, too visceral' she states softly 'chakotay, i am not sure of who we are. Hell! I am not sure of who I am, not completely. we should do the talking you wanted, clear the ghosts, the past.' and she smiles worriedly at him. He wonders if she is aware her fingers continue to stroke his cheek, that she is holding onto him, making no attempt to leave. She is in equipoise, he just needs to decide whether to press or release.

but this is Kathryn, and the damned wonderful woman does like to make the moves. She takes a deep breath and her face takes on the expression from the board room that she has made up her mind to talk. 'I am not sure of you Chakotay, is this a consolation prize, a soothe for a bruised heart? A release of seven years tension? what?'

He could laugh or shout with joy, though the hidden to others signs of indecision, of hesitancy on her face give him pause.

'Kathryn, let me be clear, beyond any misconstruction. I love you, I always loved you, I always will. i hope to spend each and every day by your side if you let me. Not just a friend, your lover, life partner, confidante, bondmate. Whatever position you want me to fill I'll be there, but for me, this is exactly what I want. You. First and only choice' the words tumble, he brings a hand up to her face, and tips her forwards again for a soft kiss.

'I love you' he tells her softly as they gently release and their foreheads come together for a moment.

'but it is one hell of a comedown' she says harshly, pushing away 'she is young and beautiful, naive and intelligent. I am not sure how I can be what you want.'

He sighs, this unsure side of her unsettles him, causes him anguish that he has contributed to her loss of personal confidence. There is a flash of anger that she could think him so superficial.

'Kathryn, you think my heart is given to transient youth or beauty skin deep? I dated her because she asked, because she and I both needed to explore something that we didn't have. I am not so superficial, if you think so, you don't know me as well as I thought!' he expostulates, and hopes she doesn't mention the string of blondes in his wake. Its not as if he tried to make a future with them. He silently acknowledges that this was what he had planned to achieve with Seven.

'and as for you being what I want? Kathryn! You are who you are, exactly who I want, who I love, who I need. I love that, i love you.' he's not sure whether his passion swept brain can really clarify that he is going to love her regardless. That it is all the different strengths and flaws, her personality and moods that make up the Kathryn and Captain combination that he loves. He doesn't have a feminine ideal to measure her against, it isn't as if he is thirteen.

'I'm not beautiful?' she answers, as she squirms against him, making his breath catch again. This woman has moods like quicksilver, he is not certain whether she is still discomfited by comparison though he hopes not, or now with mischief and wiles leading them away from the discussions they will need to have.

'you are my beautiful, brave, wise, warrior queen. i love you for your mind, your soul, and the laugh you shout when surprised, the tenderness you have, the strength and determination. I love you Kathryn for all that you are' and she pulls the quizzical tender face that he also loves.

'but perhaps that is also my point, do you love me, or your captain? I am not the woman of New Earth. I have more darkness, less flex, more control. I am that domineering captain, decisive, opinionated, maybe reckless' and she gives a grin 'I need to explore who I am again when at peace, if my restless nature will even let me be at peace, and my passions and softer side. We need to see whether there is still anything...' she tails off.

'take the time, love, but from our kisses, there is more than something here for us, there is everything Kathryn.' and she offers no resistance as he gathers her close to him. He just enjoys them holding each other, at peace, breathing in her scent, her head on his shoulder, her breath whispering against his neck. He thinks he could sit like this forever, and is glad that it seems she could too. He imagines their future and reminisces on their past, neither are talking in this moment of quiet shelter.

A ping from his comm unit disturbs them and she bolts up surprised from his lap. He wonders whether she was drowsing into sleep, relaxing into him, finally! he grins as he unfolds himself and stands with her as she unhurriedly prepares to leave, it is getting late. By the door he kisses her again, enfolding her into his arms. It feels so right to be able to kiss. The gentle adieu gains momentum. Neither of them quite able to avoid the rise of passion, the spike of desire when their lips touch.

Seven years, more or less, they have waited to do this, or at least he thinks they have both waited to do this. in anyone's books, the anticipation of this evening filled with kisses should have made the actuality a disappointment. It isn't. He glories in it. The kisses again increase in fervour, holding closer, she melts into him, submitting to this, and this time it is he that moves Kathryn, until she is pressed against his wall quite without clear intent. the universe again pales into insignificance against this moment, this love, this woman. He is home.

Her passion equals his, and it is with some reluctance that the requirement for oxygen has him break free, all though his body keeps its ultra close contact.

'So' he says slowly whilst nibbling her jawline 'slowly it is then' kissing up to her ear and then letting her pull him back into another soul stretching kiss.

She is cunning tho, and he finds she has executed a tactical manoeuvre of Tuvok's and somehow he is pulled into her delightful body for a final open mouthed and languorous kiss as she twists in his arms and with a push his back wallops against the wall, his arms held above his head, and his captain has her eyes twinkling at him in delight, a flushed appearance and well kissed lips. She allows him one more passionate kiss, and although he knows that with his superior strength and equal tactical knowledge he could turn the tables again, he likes being captured by her. He might leave some romantic fighting moves for another time.

She sets him free and sashays out, in her smoky voice telling him she would like to feel wanted and chased to know without doubt that his mind, soul and heart choose only her. She would like to be wooed and courted. He thinks she may already be caught, he certainly is as he shouts a laugh at the closing door.

He lets the broad grin cover his face. The game is on.

He might be a man that is quick on action and sometimes slow on uptake, but he is absolutely sure that his actions speak louder than any words, and this time the woman he is courting is absolutely the right one for him.


End file.
